


If I Loved You Less, I Might Be Able to Talk About It More

by soft_october



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, except sir john, innumerable references to jane austen's emma, one reference to clueless, open your mouths and talk about your feelings, sorry sir john
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:15:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28419735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soft_october/pseuds/soft_october
Summary: “Don’t be ridiculous, Francis,” James replied. “I’ve found someone for Dundy, it can’t possibly be as hard as all that to find a wife for the hero of the Franklin expedition.”At the wedding feast of Lt. Henry Le Vesconte after their rescue and return to England, James Fitzjames promises Francis Crozier that he shall find him a bride before the year is out. He'll consult Francis' closest friends (who all seem to think the entire thing is extremely hilarious and won't say why), compile the evidence, and return with the perfect woman for his friend and fellow captain. How hard could it be?(Quite hard, actually, and he and isn't quite sure why.)
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Comments: 45
Kudos: 122





	If I Loved You Less, I Might Be Able to Talk About It More

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snagov](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snagov/gifts).



> Happy end to this fucking year everyone! This is a gift for my friend the incomprable snagov, who always keeps punching in the face of opposition.
> 
> In response to his prompt: "An Emma fusion! After returning from the expedition, James is determined to secure Francis' happiness by finding him a match. Trouble is, he has fallen for Francis himself and just hasn't worked it out quite yet."
> 
> Enjoy!

James Fitzjames, handsome, clever, and rather richer in experience than he had been, with a fine new promotion and uniform to match seemed now to unite some of the best blessings in existence. None would suspect on first glance the trials he, and indeed the entire Franklin expedition, had suffered through scarcely a year prior, and it was considered the height of poor manners to speak of what might have happened had Captain James Clark Ross not insisted on manning a rescue mission in 1847. He found the lot of them on a miserable spit of shale and limestone called King William Land a hundred miles into what surely would have been a most grueling walk - but this was all in the past now, and they had nothing to do but rest and recover and not think about what might have been. James took a hearty sip from his wine glass to wash those unpleasant memories down. 

The happy event James now attended, the marriage of Lt. Henry LeVesconte, called Dundy by his friends, this should be his focus! James took special pride in the knowledge that it was _he_ who had introduced the couple, that it was only by virtue of his clever matchmaking that the two of them now bustled from guest to guest with clasped hands, flushed cheeks, darting eyes, and a manner which suggested they would very much like to be done with the party and begin one of their own in their suite upstairs. 

“What are you thinking of?” came a voice at his elbow, and he turned to see the true hero of the expedition, his First, his friend, Captain Francis Crozier. (Well, _Sir_ Francis Crozier since their return.)

“Merely paying the couple their due by remarking what a fine pair they make,” James replied, all innocence. 

“Congratulating yourself on making the match, more like,” Francis said, and James grinned, absolutely caught out. 

“However am I to maintain an air of mystery if you insist on finding me out at each turn?” James pouted. “You are right of course -” at this Francis chuckled “-and I’ve already decided to leave even the pretense of the service, since they are putting the both of us out to pasture regardless. I shall create a matchmaking establishment, finding officers for young ladies and young ladies for officers.” 

“Need I observe that one success does not a career make?” said Francis with a smile. 

“You require proof that this was not some beginner’s luck?” James asked. “Well, I shall have to make another happy couple, so that the skepticism of Francis Crozier might be appeased.” 

“Indeed? Who shall the lucky officer be this time?” And perhaps it was the two glasses of wine he had already consumed, or the press of the room which caused James to stare off into his cup and mumble something that sounded suspiciously like “Captain Francis Crozier.” 

“Beg pardon, I’m sure decades of ships bells have quite caused my hearing to desert me, I’m certain you didn’t just say-”

“Well, you find yourself without a wife, do you not?” James said, in a manner perhaps more sharply than he intended, and he blunted it with a clever laugh. 

“More wise they,” Francis mumbled, and, like nothing else could, this tendency of Francis’ towards self-recrimination bolstered his intent.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Francis,” James replied. “I’ve found someone for Dundy, it can’t possibly be as hard as all that to find a wife for the hero of the Franklin expedition.” He clapped Francis on the shoulder at this, and the man blushed red, as he often did when James insisted on heaping accolades upon him. It was so endearing James thought it was absolutely ridiculous that none of the ladies had insisted on snapping him up already. What was he doing here, talking to James, and not leading one of the innumerable young ladies out onto the dance floor? 

“Who’s now finding a wife?” Dundy asked as he approached them. 

“No one,” Francis muttered as hands were shaken all around and congratulations were suitably given, but since James said “Francis!” quite brightly at the exact same time and Dundy was rather intoxicated with alcohol and joy, he chose to acknowledge the latter. 

“If anyone can do it, Jas can!” Dundy agreed, before the tinkling of his new wife’s laughter drifted to them from across the room. 

“Go on then,” James said, gently pushing his friend towards his bride. “It sounds like Mrs. Le Vesconte finds herself in need of her husband.” Dundy grinned like a fool at him. 

“Let him try, Captain,” Dundy said to Francis before he was swallowed by the crowd. “I daresay he’ll find you as fine a bride as any.” 

Francis continued to blush furiously at the attention, and James could not help but smile as his captain rounded on him. 

“This is -” he began, and James was certain he was about to begin one of his trademark tirades before his shoulders slumped and he shook his head, his rueful expression twisting into a smile. 

“I suppose if you must,” he conceded. “You are free to try.” 

* * *

With as close to a blessing as he was like to receive from the man himself, James set about considering a bride for Francis almost as soon as they returned to their shared rooms and bid each other goodnight in the hallway before retiring to their separate bedchambers. 

The obvious choice, of course, James thought, as he unbuttoned his jacket and carefully hung it up, was Miss Cracroft, to whom Francis had twice appealed and been twice refused. James could not claim to know the state of the lady’s heart now, but Francis had been knighted, was renowned throughout the land, and James thought it absurd that any woman should find it in herself to refuse him now. 

James dismissed her straightaway. 

She had broken Francis’ heart! Twice! And then he had gone off on a fool’s errand to try and win her favor again and almost got himself killed in the process. 

No, now that was unfair. James did not blame her for sending him into the ice, not as such, but if she had just accepted him the first (or second) time, well, he would have been safe and sound at home, or at least upon a warm ocean and not - not being berated by Sir John or drinking himself half to death or struggling to lead a hundred men crumbling from starvation and scurvy. 

Yet, if - well, if Francis still showed an interest, that would have been a different story altogether. He would leap all civil bounds to see his friend happy, and if that meant appealing to Miss Cracroft yet again, James would swallow all of his _quite pertinent_ protests and do so. But Francis had not shown anymore than a solicitous interest in the lady since their return, despite ample opportunities to make his preferences known. Indeed, James was reminded of a card party they had attended at Lady Jane’s insistence not two weeks prior where, instead of applying to Miss Cracroft for the majority of the evening, as James had expected, Francis had stuck close to _James_ instead, and they had departed early once James grew tired of the constant evasions of winsome mothers advertising their daughters to him. 

Those mothers were certain to be disappointed, no matter how ardently they pushed their suit. There was no chance at all of _James_ finding a good match, that was certain. Not with his _particularities._ But he could find the best match for _Francis_ , and that was just as good, was it not? 

A memory - a fragment of a dream came to him then, unbidden. _“James -”_ Sunlight through canvas, an awful smell, Francis’ eyes brimming with tears. _“James, dear-”_ He shook his head. 

Regardless! Miss Cracroft! She would _never_ do, not at all. But without her as a template, James was quite unsure where to begin. Perhaps his boast at the wedding feast had been presumptive - what if he could _not_ find a bride for his friend? Or worse, he found someone and she was entirely unsuitable!   


With these thoughts (and a few more which James refused to give shape too) he tossed and turned for a long time before finally falling asleep to the sound of Francis’ snores through the wall. His anxious mood continued into the next day, where he spent the morning brooding into his breakfast and was prepared to spend his day in a full blown sulk before Francis startled him out of his mood by throwing the post at him. 

“Toast won’t improve with you glaring at it like it's got dirt under its fingernails,” Francis said as he settled down with his own pile of envelopes. “I think I saw one in there from your brother, see if that doesn’t improve your mood.” Curse the man for knowing how to draw him so easily out of a melancholy! Heaving a sigh and bidding farewell to his plans to mope about the house for the day, he tucked into the letter from William, filled with the antics of his nieces and nephews which could not help but bring a smile to his face. Francis was likewise preoccupied with a letter of his own. 

“What are you smiling at?” James demanded lightly across the table. 

“Jopson passed his lieutenant’s exams,” Francis replied. “It’s all official now. Nothing to do but wait for a posting.” After sharing in Francis delight over the promotion of his former steward, James was struck by a revelation before he could return to his own letters. 

Jopson! Of course! He’d been Francis’ closest companion throughout two voyages now! Who would know Francis’ preferences better?

* * *

James arrived at Jopson’s lodgings not two hours later, having extracted the address from Francis on pretense of inviting to a dinner to celebrate his recent success. Ater the usual pleasantries, during which the man gratefully accepted the congratulations and the invitation, James pivoted the conversation to his recent designs for Francis. 

Jopson was delicately sipping tea from a white china cup when James told him about the venture, and promptly devolved into a coughing fit so dire James was certain he would have to call for a doctor. “

"Mr. Jopson -” James began, rising to aid him, but the young man waved him off as he mastered himself. 

“I am certain I heard you incorrectly, Captain Fitzjames,” Jopson rasped. “You say that _you_ wish to find a suitable bride for the _captain_?” 

James did _not_ appreciate the incredulity of this statement. 

Why should he not be entrusted with such an important task?! Was his judgment truly so horrendous that Jopson should be _appalled_ by the very thought of it? James pursed his lips, refusing to allow the emotions that warred within him to show on his face. Ah, but perhaps the man thought he might be overstepping his bounds? Sticking his nose where it didn’t belong? 

“The captain knows all about it,” James tried to explain, and Jopson’s eyebrows only made further retreats towards his hairline as he made motion for him to continue. “It’s why I’ve come to seek your advice. No one could say they knew him better in the last few years.” He hoped the last statement would mollify. 

“My advice?” Could the man speak in anything but queries, or was he being deliberately thick? “My advice about what, sir?”

“About what kind of woman would be best for him, of course!” This set Jopson into another fit of coughing, and James set aside his lesser emotions as fear that their experiences had permanently damaged the poor man’s health took their place.

“Sir, I… Do you _truly_ have no idea?” Jopson asked. James held out his hands, helpless. 

“I only knew of Miss Cracroft,” James replied with a shrug. “And I would not subject him to her a third time.” Jopson tilted his head to the side, evidently distressed but to what end James could not possibly articulate. 

“What did the captain say, when you presented this to him?”

“He told me I was free to make an attempt.” At this Jopson sighed deeply. 

“Of _course_ he did,” Jopson mumbled. 

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?” 

“It means that I - er - I believe I understand the dilemma,” Jopson said, now utterly deadpan. “I will help to the best extent I’m able.” James nodded eagerly, and Jopson sighed again before continuing. “The captain… The captain is often reticent with his feelings.” (Was James a fool? Anyone who had been on the ships knew that! But the young man was continuing, and James attended.) “Thus he needs someone… needs someone livelier than he, someone who will… inspire passions that he finds it difficult to ignore. Someone who will keep him on his toes.” Jopson thought for a moment. “No wilting lily who will agree with everything he says, you understand. It should be someone who will argue with him on occasion, stand up to him, someone with spirit. Someone who will understand him, bring a smile to his face on a particularly difficult day. Someone… someone younger than him.” James nodded along solemnly, wondering if he should be writing down such a lengthy description. Jopson stared at James in that unnerving way of his, searching for something in James’ expression, perhaps, although what it could be he was certain he didn’t know. 

“The captain also has a preference for brown hair,” Jopson added quickly, his eyes wide. Well, now it was clear! Sophia Cracroft had sported a head of fine blonde hair, and why should Francis wished to be reminded of a love affair gone so sour? No, he had the full scope of it now, and congratulated himself on his foresight to seek Thomas Jopson’s counsel on the matter. 

“I understand completely,” James said with a smile. But at this Jopson narrowed his eyes. 

“You do?” he asked, warily. As if James couldn’t attend to his description! 

“Of course! Someone younger than he, lively, full of spirit, long brown hair.” Jopson smiled, and nodded eagerly. “I have the rough outline of the young lady pictured in my mind quite clearly!” 

Jopson froze instantly. He opened his mouth, ran his tongue along the underside of his top teeth, and then assumed the placid, mildly bemused expression he wore for most of the expedition. “

“Yes sir,” he said, dully, and James wondered where he had put a foot wrong. “I wish you the best in your endeavours.” 

* * *

A lady fitting the very picture James had sketched out in his mind in accordance with Jopson’s description was in attendance at a dinner held by the wife of a retiring admiral just a few weeks later. The beautiful Miss Barnaby, daughter of the sadly departed Captain Barnaby, was four and twenty, gregarious, charming, and with a fine head of chestnut curls that the James of five years prior would have gone green with envy over. She was seated next to James during the dinner, with Francis seated across, and he could not help but notice how frequently Francis’ eyes wandered over to their side of the table. Jopson had been correct indeed! The introductions already made, all that was now required would be some gentle prodding (and for Miss Barnaby to perhaps move on from the topic of fabrics, which was a delight for the first ten minutes and was now approaching the slightly insufferable). 

After the dinner it was declared that there would be dancing, and though Miss Barnaby, out of politeness no doubt, attempted to use her charms to engage James in a dance, he waved her off to more pleasant company in a fit of smiles and complaints about his constitution. 

“She is quite beautiful, is she not?” James jumped when he heard the voice behind him, and turned to see Mrs. Barnaby watching him with a sly smile. 

“The very picture of feminine elegance,” James agreed with a nod. “And a pleasant conversationalist as well,” he added, without the added caveat of “if one should enjoy fifty different descriptions of fine ribbons over dinner.” 

“I’m quite glad to hear you say so sir,” Mrs. Barnaby continued. “For the girl knows all about the life of a Captain’s wife. I taught her well, while her father was away.” 

“I am sure she does, madam,” James moved away from her by discreet measures, as the purpose of the conversation became quite clear. James had had many such conversations with mothers far pushier than Mrs. Barnaby, and was certain of his victory on the field. 

“She would be a steady companion to have at home, for any future husband of hers that shall sail away for king and country.” 

“Indeed she shall.”

“And such a dear, taking care of her brothers and sisters her whole life.” 

“She sounds like quite the accomplished young lady,” James adopted his most clipped tones so there could be no misinterpreting his intentions. “But I’m afraid we have misunderstood each other, Mrs. Barnaby. I am afraid I am one of those dreadfully cliched captains who shall have none other but the sea as my chosen bride.” 

“Ah,” Mrs. Barnaby said, with a mote of disappointment. “Then I shall not keep you, captain. Please enjoy your evening.” She sailed off into the crowd, as old and hardened a bomb ship as James had ever seen. He was almost instantly approached by Admiral Beckworth, who clapped him on the shoulder with a laugh. 

“Oh dear,” Beckworth said, shaking his head. “Old Barnaby at it again?” 

“Old Barnaby?” 

“Applying to captains left and right for that daughter of hers! Plenty of officers who would take her, but no, that dreadful mother will have nothing less than a captain. Oh - look, her and the daughter are attempting a pincer attack to Captain Crozier now.” 

James whirled in the direction Beckworth was pointing to see that Mrs. Barnaby _and_ her daughter had cornered Francis between two columns, and the man who had once threaded Terror like a needle between two icebergs looked helpless in the face of such opposition! They were successful in getting him to apply to Miss Barnaby for a dance, and Francis led her onto the floor with all the gravity of a man approaching the gallows, while Mrs. Barnaby looked on in smug triumph. 

How terribly mercenary! To think James had even _considered_ the girl to be a suitable partner for Francis! Francis deserved more - he was _worth_ more, than someone second thought, their backup plan once all the rest had failed! James chewed the inside of his cheek as he watched Francis lead her about the dance floor, cringed at the nails on glass sound of her laughter, impatiently tapped his toes inside of his boots at each insipid smile, fought back a groan each time her steps faltered and she attempted to turn the pair round in a circle.

Whatever had Jopson been on about? Miss Barnaby was no wilting lily to be sure, but she was ridiculous and frivolous to the extreme! Were her mother’s goals to be achieved and the pair wedded before the month was out, the newlyweds would sit about on their wedding night with her going on and on about the dress and the veil and Francis trying to melt through the floorboards! For all her desiring of a captain for a husband what did this Miss Barnaby know about the expeditions, about the ice? She didn’t know how Francis took his tea (one sugar, no cream) nor would she care to learn! Would she sit with him when he awoke from a nightmare, or roll over and feign sleep? James did not have a charitable answer to any of these questions. 

No, the image he dreamed up from the former steward’s words had been all wrong. But then he should not blame the boy. Jopson was young, perhaps he had an idealized version of what his captain would prefer in a wife. James sighed. It was his own failings, _he_ was the one who had declared he would find a suitable partner for Francis and he had no one but himself to blame for the turn the night had taken. It was clear he needed a second opinion, someone who had known Franics longer. 

Miss Barnaby cried out loudly as Francis tread on her toes. 

It was _quite_ clear. 

Captain Ross would have to be applied to. 

But before that, his First required a desperate rescue.

He chose his moment as carefully as he had been trained to as a gunnery officer on the HMS Excellent, the very moment where there was a lull in the music as the musicians prepared for their next piece. 

“Captain Crozier?” James said, tapping him on the shoulder. The abject relief in his friend's face when he turned around was worth every half moon James' nails had dug into his palms with each peal of Miss Barnaby's laughter. “Terribly sorry to interrupt, but there's been a question about magnetic observations in Greenland that I'm afraid I have no answer for.” Francis excused himself from the lady and followed James to the library, where there was absolutely no one waiting with an urgent query about magnetism (nor would there _ever_ be such a thing, as far as James was concerned) but there _were_ a few comfortable looking chairs, into which they both took a well deserved sit. 

“That was rather dreadful, was it not?” Francis asked after a moment warming his hands before the fire. James wondered if the joints were paining him, as they often did upon a wet, cold night such as this. 

“I was sure her giggles would shatter the glasses next,” James agreed, but Francis shook his head. 

“I meant the - the dancing.” 

“Who can be expected to dance well when both wish to take the lead?” James asked with a shrug. Francis did not reply, and they sat together in quite comfortable silence for some time, while the muffled sounds of music and laughter drifted in from the margins of their shelter of shelves and parchment. It was the picture of contentment, and James found emotions welling in his throat that he could not recognize. 

“Well then,” James said, rising to his feet quite quickly. “I suppose we should be off. Should the temperature drop any further on the way home I’ll have to spend all of breakfast listening to your joints make a riotous argument.”

“Whatever you say, dear,” Francis replied with a soft laugh, and though James whipped his head around at that word _“James, dear-”_ there was nothing in Francis’ face that betrayed anything more than a jest, and James found the sudden, unbidden racing of his own pulse quite inconvenient. 

Served him right for sitting so long in front of the fire and standing so abruptly. 

* * *

“Captain Fitzjames! What a surprise!” Ross rose from behind his desk and shook James’ hand warmly. “What brings you here?” James explained his quest of finding a proper match for Francis to Ross’ increasingly widening eyes and was subject to a series of furious, bewildering blinks at the conclusion of his proposal. 

“I... see,” said Ross, and he began to fiddle with the fountain pen before him such that James doubted the sincerity of the statement. “You’re - seeking a bride for Francis.” 

“You put it so succinctly,” replied James, wishing that there was a bit more enthusiasm behind Ross’ statements. He was reminded of Jopson’s reactions as well, and wondered if there was something the both of them knew that he could not quite grasp. 

“Well, I… I certainly wish you the best of luck,” Ross continued. “But why come to me?” 

“You two were together for such a long time on the ice, and before,” James said, as if it should have been obvious. “Surely you have some insight into the kind of partner he would prefer.” Ross inhaled deeply, as if coming to some weighty decision. 

“Indeed I do,” Ross replied. “Francis would never settle for anyone less than his equal.”

“His _intellectual_ equal?” Oh no! James had no head for magnetism, and wouldn’t know the first thing about finding a lady acquainted with the subject. Ross looked him up and down, wincing as he did so. 

“Well, not _necessarily_ ,” Ross admitted. “But perhaps someone who has - er - proven their worth, as it were. Someone he could rely on in a crisis, turn to in his times of need.” 

“I think I know what you mean,” James said, thoughtfully, and Ross’ face collapsed in abject relief. 

“Oh thank heaven, I wasn’t quite sure how to word the thing.” 

“Nonsense, you did a capital job! Of course Francis would want a steady sort of woman, smart, can keep a cool head in a crisis, I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.” Ross’ face embarked on a journey from relief to confusion and then headlong into alarm as James made his proclamation. 

“Er - yes, that’s -”

“What you were trying to say. Thank you Captain Ross, this will be invaluable to me in my endeavour.”

“Of - of course,” Ross sputtered, looking all of a sudden quite out of his depth for a man who had been to the poles as many times as he. 

* * *

James stumbled across just such a woman rather accidentally, on his holiday in Bath. 

Ah - _his and Francis’_ holiday in Bath. 

The Rosses, who had originally planned the whole trip and insisted Francis and James come along (“or the children will cry for their Uncle Francis and Uncle James the time entire!”), were stayed in London by young James coming down with a fever and subsequently infecting the entire household, as children were wont to do. 

“Go on without us,” Captain Ross had insisted, according to Francis, and James was happy enough to take a respite from London and the seemingly limitless number of events they were expected to attend and people they were supposed to entertain with stories of adventure and derring do. 

James was delighted by the diversions and events available to them in Bath, and though he would not be so gauche as to drag Francis to innumerable concerts and recitals (to spare the rest of the audience his inevitable grumbles and snores, if nothing else), he did found among the schedule of the exhibition halls several lectures on astronomy by Sir John Herschel, which he knew would surely provide adequate entertainment for an evening or two. 

It was after a concert he attended alone where James encountered Miss Addington and her father, Mr. Addington, who insisted on an introduction through his son, a young man that had sailed with James almost a decade ago. James was not unaware of the dimness of the connection, but so many were eager to attach themselves to the heroes (heroes, ha) of the Franklin Expedition that what was one or two more, in the grand scheme of things? 

He was in trade, and, as he had no son who might be prevailed upon to take over the business, he had trained his daughter to lead the company in his stead. (Along with a proper husband, of course, Mr. Addington insisted.) James was pleasantly surprised through their conversation to learn that Miss Addington, unlike all the ladies in London, had seemingly no desire to hear wild tales of the ice or natives or polar bears. She instead asked quite sensible questions about the possibility of northern trade routes, the conditions of the Pacific that he had been acquainted with, and his thoughts on an overland route through the Americas, some of which James did not have an answer for was assured Francis certainly would. 

Francis! 

The Addingtons were wealthy, to be sure, and, like many merchants with money, they now sought connections. Attaching their daughter to a Sir Francis Crozier would do well to open the door to society, and the vast sums stored in a bank vault somewhere would ensure that Francis could live the rest of his days in complete security and comfort, and never even think about having to take on dangerous work again. Miss Addington seemed a strong and sensible woman to be sure, could be counted on to keep her wits about her during a panic, and was obviously possessed of more than a fair amount of intelligence. Was this not the image Ross had sketched out during their brief conversation? 

It was with these thoughts and more that James introduced the pair at the conclusion of John Hershel’s first lecture (which he had barely been able to heed but Francis had followed with rapt attention). 

Mr. Addington shook Francis’ hand warmly. 

“Was hoping we might meet, after we met with Captain Fitzjames the other night! Now, what do you think about -” 

“Oh, sir,” James interrupted, before Mr. Addington could launch into some long winded topic or another and ruin Francis’ introduction to Miss Addington. “I am certain you mentioned something about tea futures when last we met, and I would be interested in knowing more on the subject.” He had said no such thing (nor had any desire to know anything more about tea other than it should arrive promptly each morning and afternoon), but the way Mr. Addington’s face lit up it was clear that he did not note the error in the slightest, and launched into a complicated explanation about India and the Chinese markets James knew he would not be expected to make more than the ordinary cursory replies. 

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Captain,” Miss Addington began. 

“And to you, miss,” Francis replied. (Barest civility! An excellent beginning! Perhaps they would launch into discussion of the weather next.) 

“I must say it has been quite temperate in Bath while we have been here,” Miss Addington continued, and James had to fight the urge to massage his temple. 

“It has been positively roasting, in my estimation, though a single degree above freezing and I confess I am tempted to reach for my summer coat.” (A joke! From Francis! And so early in the conversation! Oh dear, would James have to run out and find a priest for them to wed before the week was out?) Only - 

The lady’s face remained implacable. 

“It has not been that warm, sir,” Miss Addington answered, and Francis’ expression faltered. 

“Since the expedition, I mean. Because it was so cold.” 

“I do not catch your meaning, sir.” 

“My apologies, miss,” he replied. “It was merely meant in jest.” 

“Ah.” Her face betrayed no understanding of the remark nor Francis’ explanation, and James began to chew the inside of his cheek as their conversation limped along to its eventual death. James barely attended to what Mr. Addington was saying about tea futures, too caught up in his own thoughts about yet another failure. 

The first time they met he had been so concerned with answering her questions, so consumed with thoughts of a possible future for her with Francis that he had not noticed how she never smiled, how her face was permanently drawn into a kind of determined scowl.

Serious indeed, but what James had mistaken for steadiness he now saw was utter joylessness! However could she make Francis happy, when he needed someone around to bring him _out_ of his melancholies, to smile and joke with him when he was brooding, not exacerbate them! Too easily could he see Miss Addington ordering Francis out of his “ridiculous” moods, and his blood boiled at the imagined slight. 

Miss Addington excused herself briefly to attend to her mother, and when her father had drifted off into the crowd when he spied some business partner or another James and Francis found themselves blessedly alone. 

“Before they return…” Francis began, searching James’ face for confirmation and his own broke into abject relief when he found it, “Perhaps we should find ourselves elsewhere?” 

“I think that would be quite prudent of us,” James agreed. “What do you say to a visit to the baths? We’ve yet to make use of them in all our time here.” 

“The baths?” Francis’ cheeks turned quite a charming shade of red at the very mention, and James could not help but laugh as he took hold of Francis’ sleeve and led them through the throng to the nearest exit. 

“It _is_ what the city is famous for, Francis.” 

“And Bushmills is famous for its gin, but I never took part in _that_ either,” he grumbled good naturedly. 

“I assure you, the baths should be a sight more pleasant than anything you’d ever find in _Bushmills_ ,” James replied loftily, and Francis suffered himself to be pitched into a waiting coach and coaxed to the baths.

There was nothing for a tangled mind like a warm soak, and James was content to allow the water to wash away his troubles, as they were. When they arrived back in London, James would continue to consider the problem. Now, he lay back against the tiles and listened to Francis’ nervous splashing a few feet away as he got into the water after a lengthy battle, from which James of course had emerged victorious. 

(“Don’t see why a man has to go in naked as the day he was born!”

“It’s a _bath_ , Francis, not a state dinner. If it makes you feel any better I’ll close my eyes.”

“I just don’t know if -”

“It’s _ever_ so warm and comfortable here, and you’re missing the whole thing.”)

Francis’ face had gone rather red at that, and James dutifully closed his eyes. The baths _were_ rather warm and comfortable, and when he chanced to open one eye, he saw that Francis’ blush continued all the way down his chest. 

* * *

Thomas Blanky, perhaps predictably, broke into a fit of long, loud laughter before James even concluded his explanation. James was only grateful that the London public house was mostly deserted at this time of day, that none others were there to bear witness. 

“I’m not sure what’s so amusing,” James said in what was almost a huff, but he was a captain now, and such low feelings were beneath him. 

“I’m sure you don’t, else you wouldn’t be here at all,” Blanky managed once his peals of amusement had settled into more manageable guffaws. “Going to try and find a pretty bride for Frank, eh?”

“Yes,” James ground out. “And I’m not sure where I keep going wrong.”

“Maybe I can help a bit,” Blanky replied, a strange twinkle in his eye that James did not care for _at all._

“That _is_ why I’m here,” James explained again. Blanky leaned back against the bar, steepling his fingers like an old wise man searching for an answer to a complicated theological problem. 

“He deserves someone worthy of him for certain,” Blanky began. 

“Ross said Francis would settle for no one less than his equal.”

“He _did,_ did he? Did that give you any ideas?”

“Some, I suppose, but I must have misunderstood.”

“I’ll say you have. Who else have you spoken to?” 

“Jopson. He said it should be someone who will challenge him.”

“Oh absolutely. Our Frank will make all sorts of stubborn and pigheaded moves without someone to tell him what an absolute wretch he’s being every so often.” James nodded in encouragement, and though Blanky was staring at him almost expectantly, he remained silent that the old ice master might continue. “They’re probably going to want to bite each other's heads off at first, but there’s a spark there even a blind man couldn’t miss. And after a while - oh, maybe a few months, maybe a few years, they’ll realize what everyone else has known for ages.” James’ mouth twisted in disappointment. He had hoped to see Francis settled before the next year was out, but the way Blanky imagined it, Francis was slow to woo indeed! 

Blanky must be as disappointed in his reaction as all the rest, because he sighed much the same way that Ross and Jopson had. James was frankly quite sick of the sound altogether. 

“To be perfectly honest, he likes them tall, too,” Blanky added. 

“Tall?” 

“Aye, and broad shouldered.” A smile worried about his lips. “Long legs too.” 

“A statue of a woman!” Blanky bit his lip to keep from laughing again and clapped James on the shoulder. 

“You’ll get there yet, lad. Now run on home to Frank and tell him Esther expects him for dinner on Friday and won’t stand for a refusal.” 

* * *

Miss Vera Chatham was everything a man such as Francis could possibly want. 

She stood at a dominating five foot eight, with long hair that charmingly framed her face and shoulders broad enough to hoist three sacks of flour, should she so wish it. Her father was a Fellow of the Royal Science academy and insisted on a proper education for his daughter, and she had secretly published several articles analyzing the work of Faraday’s recent work on electricity under the name V. Charles. It was probably due to this streak of independence that she was still unmarried at thirty one, but James saw this as nothing but an advantage: she was no flighty young thing given to fits of fancy, but a woman settled in herself, who would take no nonsense from her future husband but, if her riotous laughter were anything to rely on, was possessed of a fine sense of humor and could bring a smile to even the most dour face. Her dowry was of a reasonable size, and, while not the opulent wealth of the Addingtons, it would be enough that the two of them and any forthcoming children could live simply and happily for decades to come. 

James could not find a single fault with her. 

And _lord knows, he_ had been _trying._

He paced up and down in the drawing room pouring over his hastily scribbled notes (taken after three meetings with the woman, once outside the academy while waiting for Francis, once after a tea at her home to which Francis had been invited and taken him along, for some reason, and once at a dinner) searching for any kind of imperfection, any lack of personality, weakness of character, or flaw in her beauty, and he could find _nothing._

Why on earth should he be so distraught? Here was the perfect bride, and all James could do was pick over her for her faults like a frustrated schoolmarm! Here was a woman who would make Francis happy, who could meet his intellectual level, who could take care of him and set up a house with him and give him children and then he would have no need to share rooms with James any longer, and - 

James was suddenly filled with pangs of longing so acute it was necessary for him to sit down. 

Well. These feelings were no matter. He would take a moment to reflect, and then return to vetting of Miss Chatham. 

So James had become... _attached_ to Francis, in the months since their return. That was no surprise, after what they had been through! Although it had been sooner than that, really, hadn’t it? The walk? No, Carnivale, perhaps but - 

Alright, so James Fitzjames had been noticing Francis Crozier since well before the ships left Greenhithe, but how could he not? Francis was the hero of the Antarctic Expedition, after all, strong and fearless in the face of icy danger, if the pamphlets and memoirs were to be believed, and handsome to - 

He rose to his feet and began to pace again. 

Enough of this. Somewhere along the way, the noticing had given way to attachment, but it made absolutely no difference. All the preening and peacocking in the world hadn’t been enough to have Francis look his way even once (and lord knows James had tried just about all of it), so he had put such thoughts away in a trunk deep in his mind labeled Birdshit Island and thrown the key into the cold depths of the sea. This, this finding a wife for Francis, it was what friends did, it had nothing to do with the way James wanted Francis to be happy because James felt lighter when Francis was in the room! He wished for Francis to have children, and then maybe James could forget one day the way his shoulder felt warm for hours afterwards where Francis touched him. He would find him a nice woman to occupy Francis’ days and nights, so James could finally stop wondering how Francis’ light hair might look in the morning sun as he lay abed - 

Oh my god. James thought. 

_I’m in love with Francis._

The thought crashed into him like a ship careening into an icy cliff face, and he sat down upon the settee and buried his head in his hands, for such a revelation demanded proper dramatic effect. How could he have missed it? How long had he been so afflicted? Did Francis _know?_

( _“James - James, dear-”_ )

But such a thing could never be! He knew that, he taught himself that over every wardroom dinner where Francis had no reaction to him or his stories save disdain! He had borne the evidence of Francis’ hatred of him as a bruise on his jaw for weeks. There was - even when their anger towards each other had cooled, crystallized into something resembling brotherhood, or friendship, Francis had never shown anything greater than comradely affection! 

Except that _one_ time.

 _“James -”_

But that had been a dream, wasn’t it? Or something like it. _“James, dear -”_ James’ memories from that time were fragments, wisps of smoke that rarely coalesced into a complete image. Lord knew he had imagined Francis speaking to him like that enough that he could have easily dreamed it. But - he prodded at the memory further. Would he have imagined rough thumbs wiping tears from his cheeks? Or - he felt his heartbeat quicken - the feel of chapped lips on his own? 

He shook his head. Of course he could have imagined it! He’d had far filthier dreams, why should - why should the thought of a furtive kiss in a tent - a kiss he could barely remember - why should it be cast in a different light than the others? When lucidity returned, on board Enterprise, at the earliest, Francis had not looked at him any differently than he had since Victory Point. There were no hidden depths in those improbably blue eyes. 

_Oh dear._ James had it rather bad, didn’t he?

And he would have left it there, gone to Miss Chatham, pushed her and Francis together, stood up at their wedding, bounced their future brood of children on his bony knees and been glad of it, if it wasn’t for one thing. 

Well, _three things._

First there was Thomas Jopson nearly choking on his tea, “ _You say that_ you _wish to find a suitable bride for the_ captain _?”_ And all his comments about Francis’ preferences, younger than he, more spirited, someone who would argue with him - could not - James sighed. 

Could _he_ not also fit each of those descriptions? 

Not just Jopson! Ross had claimed Francis should have none but his equal! Had he not been Francis’ equal, or as close to it? Someone he could turn to in a crisis? James huffed. Well, if taking over command of the entire expedition while Francis dried out, Sir John lay in his icy grave, and the men losing teeth and morale by the day wasn’t a crisis James would eat his hat. 

And then there was Blanky, all that about Frank and his future bride wanting to bite each other’s heads off, spending years together -

\- spending years together until -

\- “ _Aye, and broad shouldered too”_ \- 

Were they - were they all trying to say that Francis’ type was - was James _himself??_

Could such a thing be possible? But it had been _years_ , years of anger and desperation and -

_James - James, dear -_

“James?” James nearly jumped out of his skin when Francis appeared in the door to the sitting room, hat in his hand and just returned from a visit with the Rosses. James must have made some noise of surprise at his appearance, what with the way Francis nearly stepped back into the corridor. “James are you alright? You look like you’ve had quite the turn!”

“Me?” Turns? What were turns? How did he look? Had he been running his fingers through his hair? What if he looked like a fright indeed? “No - I’m - I’m quite well, just -” he picked up the pile of what might charitably be called notes from the table - “organizing some notes.”

“Some notes?”

“Notes, yes that _is_ what they are.”

“Notes for what?” Oh god notes for what? Why did the afternoon light catch in Francis’ hair so? Why had he chosen the blue cravat, the one that James always said brought out his eyes? Was it to torment James specifically? Had he chosen it because - because James had expressed preference for it? What did _that_ mean? 

“James?” 

“A book!”

“You have notes on a book?” This was a stretch that even James’ long legs could not possibly fathom. Francis had hardly seen him crack a spine on anything more complicated than a novel, and no offense to Miss Austen, but he should hardly be taking notes on the goings on of Pemberley. 

“A book that I - er - I might be writing. On the expedition.” 

“I didn’t know you were considering -”

“Yes! Well, it’s - well, it’s early stages yet. Still compiling… notes!” He pulled the papers closer to his chest, as if they would guard his heart from the onslaught of the kind concern in Francis’ smile. “How was your - the Rosses! How was tea?” 

“Tea was very fine indeed, but perhaps you should take a break from your - from whatever work you’re doing. Get out of the house? We could take a turn about the park, if you’d like.”

“You’ve only just returned, I’m sure -”

“It’s no trouble -” 

“I don’t-” James stopped, and took a deep breath. “I think that would be lovely, Francis,” he said when he felt his voice would not shake with the effort. “I’ll put these away and fetch my coat and we can be off.” 

James spent the duration of their walk wondering if he was walking too close, or too far, and as he had never had a head for mathematics beforehand, he returned from their outing rather more distressed than when he had begun. 

* * *

“So how goes the business of finding me a suitable wife?” Francis asked, perfectly out of the blue one evening as they sat by the fire. James felt like he had once again been struck by a sniper’s bullet and Francis, utterly oblivious, merely turned to the next page in the paper. 

The last week had been agony: trying to suss out Francis’ true feelings while his own had burst from the confines he thought he had built so well and spilling over everywhere, threatening to make him blush at the slightest touch of their hands over the sugar bowl. It had been a week of trying to read into each statement, each glance, each touch, and James was certain he should go mad if it went on any longer.Their current configuration, seated together on the sofa with Francis' warm leg pressing against his own, was not helping matters in the slightest. 

“James?” there was concern in Francis’ voice, and James knew he had waited too long. 

“Oh, terribly,” he finally replied, hoping the airy declaration would cover for the waver in his voice. Francis chuckled. 

“Could have told you that weeks ago. I’m not suited for -” 

“No!” James interrupted quickly, too quickly, by the way Francis put down the paper and turned to look at him. “Not that - it’s not that _you’re_ not suited - its -” James took a deep, steadying breath before he muddled the whole thing up even more. 

“You don’t have to mince words, James,” Francis said, gently, trying to comfort _him_ of all things. “I well know my own state.” This slight against his own person, which inflamed James like nothing else on an ordinary day, spurred him to boldness this night in a way deference would not have. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, you know I can’t abide to hear you talk of yourself that way.” 

“If, as you have said, the business truly fares so ill-”

“There is someone,” James said, before he could take the words back. “Talkative, but not too much, I hope, younger than you, but not too young to know when you’re being serious or not. No money or title, but you made clear that - you made clear that that didn’t matter, and they'll keep you on your toes, for sure, but you’re a man who likes a bit of adventure, without it you’ll get dull and morose and not fit for company at all.” 

“You’ve been talking to Blanky, I see,” Francis replied, in a guarded way that reminded James of the first days of the expedition. 

“And Jopson,” James said. “And Ross.” Francis’ face blanched into something unreadable, and the paper slipped from his knees to the floor. 

“So?” he asked, his voice approaching a whisper. “Who is this mystery person?” His gaze pinned James in place, he felt like a butterfly wriggling on a pin. 

“I’m -” his voice quivered, and he swallowed in an attempt to tame it. “I’m afraid _he’s_ not quite worthy of you either.” So there could be no more misunderstandings, James covered Francis’ hand with his own. Francis stared at their joined hands like they were a December break up of ice - wildly improbable and met with acute disbelief. They sat there for some moments, until James’ heart felt like it would burst straight through his chest or Francis would find his hands so clammy he would throw his hand down - or worse, rise in anger, throw James out of the house, leave him alone there to -

“All this talk of finding me a wife,” Francis said, with a voice like broken glass. “Thought it was your way of getting rid of me.” 

“Never,” James replied, shaking his head. “I wanted - I only wanted to see you happy, and I didn’t think that I - I didn’t know that you-”

“You don’t remember, then?” There was no disappointment in Francis’ face, only honest inquiry. Remember? 

_James, dear-_ Francis’ face, eyes wet, chapped lips pressed against his, calloused thumbs wiping tears from his own face, light through the holes in the canvas tent. 

“The... walk?” James’ was tentative, afraid that if he pushed too hard it would all dissolve. 

“Not much walking you could have done then,” said Francis. He shivered, and James laced their fingers together, an anchor, _I am here, we survived, we are home._

“I remember - I remember something,” James began, haltingly. “Though I was never quite sure if I was dreaming.” 

“You asked me -” Francis exhaled, his eyes flicked away to the fire. “You asked me to kiss you. ‘To know what it was like,’ you said, before you - before you went.” A flurry of emotions flickered across Francis’ countenance, and the anguish there caused James’ heart to break all over again. 

“And you did,” James confirmed. 

“I did. I warred with myself over it. He is not himself, I thought. What if he regrets it? It’s not about _me_ it's only because no one else is -” Francis stopped as James placed his hand under his chin, lifting his eyes to meet James’ gaze. 

“There is no one else here, either,” James said. “And yet if we were - if we were in the middle of a grand gala, or alone at the end of the world, or - or seated right here at home there is no one, no one I would rather kiss me than you, Francis.” 

Francis blinked at him, and for a moment James was unsure what more he could do, (for that declaration was quite as good as any!), but then Francis surged forward, caught James’ lips with his own and oh, if what he had half remembered from their walk was sweet, it was nothing compared to this, nothing compared to the warmth of their bodies beside each other, safe within the confines of their sitting room, warm before their own fire, Francis’ hands framing his face and one hand sliding back to become tangled in his hair. It felt _good_ , good in a way James didn’t know he could feel since the ice, and he pressed closer, felt Francis’ mouth open under his, rearranged his limbs to better the angle, felt the brush of Francis’ tongue against his lips and from the depths of his own throat emitted a moan that would have been mortifying were he with any other man. It only seemed to inflame Francis further, and he hauled James half on top of him without breaking their kiss. 

“Francis -” James mumbled, pulling back to better look at the man beneath him, his flushed face and blown pupils that were sure to match his own. 

“James-” 

“I love you,” James said, planting kisses along his jawline. “I didn’t want to realize it for what it was, didn’t - didn’t think I could have -” Francis shushed him, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. 

“James Fitzjames,” Francis sighed. “I have loved you for so long that it - it made me _furious_.” James laughed low in his throat. 

“It must be quite a long time, then. I hardly remember a time when you weren’t furious with me.” 

“Precisely.” 

James allowed the words to sink in, wondered how it was that Francis could not hear how loudly his heart was beating.

“We have both been perfect fools,” he exclaimed, and curled further into Francis’ chest. “I shall have to apologize to your friends for taking so long. I am certain I appeared to be a complete imbecile in their eyes.” 

“I’m sure they will judge you no harsher than they did me,” Francis replied. “If I had to hear Blanky ask me when I was going to make an honest man out of you one more time I’d -” 

“You’d what?” 

“I’d make a _dishonest_ man out of you first.” The gravel in Francis' voice sparked bonfires in James’ spine. 

“You are free to make the attempt whenever you see fit.” He kissed him again, to make his point quite clear. 

“Ah, but whatever will you tell LeVesconte?” Francis asked after several, very delightful moments. 

“What do you mean?” Why should they be talking of Dundy at a time such as this?

“You promised him you would find a bride for me, did you not?” James scoffed. 

“And am I not the perfect bride for you?” James was now fully seated in Francis’ lap, arms around his neck. “Even _better_ , since I am _also_ the perfect husband.” He punctuated this proclamation with a peck to Francis’ cheek. 

“Perfect, you say?”

“Indeed. I was determined you should settle for nothing less, and here I am.” Francis laughed, and pulled James closer toward him. 

“I’ll have the maid send out the notice of our upcoming nuptials tomorrow.” 

It was a joke, a remark on what they could not have, it was only meant in jest, and yet - and yet James tensed for a moment. Francis was giving it up, giving up a real wedding, giving up children, a legacy, all for - 

“James? James, dear -”

“I’m alright Francis,” James said, rising to his feet. And he was, he _was_. “I was only thinking, since we are not to have a wedding in the traditional sense -”

“I would, James I _would_ -”

“I know. But since we must make our declarations in the privacy of these walls -” He rose and extended a hand down to Francis. “Might we perhaps skip the nuptials altogether, and head straight for the wedding night? 

Francis answered him by pulling him down for a kiss. 

* * *

The wedding was very much like other weddings, where the parties have no taste for finery or parade; But, in spite of these deficiencies, the wishes, the hopes, the confidence, the predictions of the small band of true friends who has spurred the couple along, were fully answered in the perfect happiness of the union. 

**Author's Note:**

> May the new year bring you far more laughter than tears! 
> 
> Come talk to me at [@soft-october-night](https://soft-october-night.tumblr.com/) and if you enjoyed this fic there's a handy dandy rebloggable post [here!](https://soft-october-night.tumblr.com/post/638895055260745728/if-i-loved-you-less-i-might-be-able-to-talk-about)


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